


belonging

by gingergenower



Series: the garrison [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: I dunno imma write a few Constance-holding-her-own-in-the-garrison fics, all the dramasss, post 2x10 fic, so this is the first one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:33:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingergenower/pseuds/gingergenower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new cadets don't know who Constance is. They soon learn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	belonging

**Author's Note:**

> post 2x10, musketeers are not meant to be morons and Constance won’t put up with it.

Striding across the courtyard, Constance nodded at the line of freshly chosen cadets waiting by the stables as she passed them. Treville needed to stay a few moments more at the palace, but would deal with them in due course- they could wait. Her eyes slid past them, already on Brujon talking to another cadet, readying herself to ask about his training in the duel wield. His nerves frayed his edges the day before, but she hadn’t seen him since.

“Mademoiselle-”

“Madame.” She stopped in front of the new cadets. The boy who’d spoken was seventeen at most and flicked his dark hair out of his eyes, smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Madame- might I enquire your name?”

Surveying him through narrowed eyes, she tilted her chin up. “No, boy. You may not.”

Turning on her heel and continuing her march, the boys chuckled and laughed behind her, but the boy was not finished.

“It’s just that, madame, I rather think you’ve lost your way.”

Halting, she turned, eyebrows raised, and he grinned wide and stood out of the line, laughing with the other boys. He’s their leader. She wondered how much money his father paid for his place in the garrison.

“You see, this is the King’s musketeers’ garrison,” he said, as though she were slow and hard of hearing. “The King’s Men. It does seem, madame, you are not a man.”

Constance smoothed her corset down, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I rather think you are the one lost. You’ve rightly stated that this is the garrison for the King’s Men, but it does seem you are not a man, boy.”

The boy’s face dropped, some of the others trying to stifle their laughter with their hands and some outright guffawing.

“Fall in line.”

He slunk back in his place. Constance didn’t look down at him- tall and lanky, he physically outmatched her, but he cowered under her sharp gaze.

“What’s your name?” she said.

He couldn’t meet her gaze. “Lyon. Claude Lyon.”

“Tell me, Lyon; do you speak to all women with such insolence?”

“I was not-”

“You were. Answer the question.”

He swallowed. “No.”

“I have to wonder why you spoke to me with such contempt, then.” One of the other boys snorted. Constance turned on him. “And you can shut up as well.”

They all fell silent.

“I believe I need to explain something to you all, then. Your first lesson here. Have you seen the scabbards every musketeers walks with- each with a sword in?”

Lyon nodded. “Yes, madame.”

“The best Parisian blacksmith makes all of the swords for the garrison. Usually, his apprentice delivers them on his behalf- his apprentice is also his daughter. She is a woman who you will see in the garrison and you will talk to her as no less than your equal. And do you see the woman there?” 

She pointed at an older woman, collecting abandoned dishes on a table to wash. Lyon nodded.

“Our cook is a lovely woman- Madame Chaillou. I will trust you will be kind to her or she will not feed you.”

“I understand,” Lyon said, as though he wanted the dressing down to end.

“You don’t. My name is Constance d’Artagnan. I am the wife of a musketeer. I am a confidante and defender of our queen, and I have served her majesty in the palace and out of it. For the crown, I have fought and laid down my life more times than you have fingers, and if you disrespect me again, if you question my right to be here, I will ensure the garrison will never be your home. Do you understand?”

They all blinked, and she rolled her eyes.

“I asked if you understood.”

“We understand,” the boy next to Lyon said, and Constance became aware of Brujon at her shoulder.

“What did they say?”

Constance glanced at Lyon. “I’m not sure they’d be willing to repeat it now.”

“Repeat what?” Treville arrived, passing his horses’ reigns off to Brujon, but Brujon didn’t move far.

“They were rude to Madame d’Artagnan.”

“I’ve dealt with it,” Constance said, hand up to pacify Treville, “but you may want to encourage good manners and respect throughout their training. It seems they will all need it.”

The sight of Treville in his minister’s clothing still caught her off guard, but he said the same of her in her new dresses. More practical and better for fighting in at the garrison, she sometimes even wore leathers like the musketeers.

Treville paused. “Should I train them at all?”

As a collective, they held their breath, staring between her and Treville. 

“I can’t say. I haven’t been here long enough to know what makes a musketeer,” she said. “But they aren’t d’Artagnan.”

Grinning, and ignoring the trembling boys in front of them, Treville sighed. “No man is quite like d’Artagnan.”

“That’s why I married him,” Constance said over her shoulder, walking towards Brujon to corner him. “Be hard on them, won’t you?” Treville bowed, and she smirked, hooking her arm through Brujon’s to walk with him to the armoury.

**Author's Note:**

> there's no way there wasn't some kind of resistance to Constance and her importance but yeah, she'd squash that like a bug


End file.
